The Messiah of Enuma Elish
by Empress Jejune Tome
Summary: Umm...so it's a kind of religious thing I wrote after watching this thing on the History Channel...and well the first chapter is odd, but there is someone in a different time who can change the future. So there, I wrote a bit, tell me if you like it. Chap
1. The Gates

A/N: This is going to be a long author's note, so hang with me

A/N: This is going to be a long author's note, so hang with me. I wrote this after watching a History Channel (God, I love them) special on Jerusalem's history. It's really quite intriguing. Anyways, think of Zeph and his followers as being in a different time, an alternate universe if you will. It would make much more sense than trying to compare my version of the city to the one you see today. 

It may seem strange and not relating at all to the Harry Potter series in the beginning chapter, but just read on.I'm hoping you will all enjoy this. I know that this random chapter is short, but bear with me. 

Disclaimer: All this belongs to J.K. Rowling, although Zeph and the girl are mine. 

In the Beginning, there was nothing.

Human life is complex and busy. Time is unnecessary and manufactured, and perhaps, altogether inexistent.And yet the Messiah stands at the gate. When arcs of gold and alabaster part like clouds and beams of sunlight, he will walk through, thus creating a Messiah.Few shall see his coming, but many will watch him leave. He is not God, nor a god, simply man, or boy, come to rid of us this impatient tension and the misunderstandings plaguing humanity. 

He stood, the dark boy with sullen eyes, before the gate, wishing the city would open to let him enter. He had tried the other gates, the ones named Zion and West, but those had close rapidly before him, most likely by the villagers. 

This gate was old and crumbling. Chunks of moldy rock landed at the boy's feet, almost as if to bid him good riddance. Other villagers had begun to stare at the boy. They stood amazed that this boy, seemingly of their own race, did not know that Muslims had sealed the Gold Gate shut years ago, as if to protect their world from the inevitable coming of the Jewish Messiah. But, he would come.

Yet, he stood, unmoving, a stoic statue shedding no shadow or light. The sun was long gone, but he stood. If they would not let him in elsewhere, he would wait until the time had passed. Although the boy grew weary, he strayed not. Then one called his name. 

"Zeph!" The crowd now craned their necks to view the one who knew the boy. An apparent slave girl, a half-Hebrew, no doubt, pushed through the mass of people. 

"Zeph! You know that Master said we could no longer visit inside the walls of Jerusalem. Besides, these walls are sealed shut."

"He's not my master," spat Zeph with a snap of his wrist, to show the girl away. She persistently pushed through the crowd until she had reached the front. Zeph did not turn to greet the slave girl in any way. He simply watched as pebbles bounced to the ground and slabs of dust and rock smashed at his feet. Through this all, an aura burnt fiercely surrounding the boy. No stone dare light upon his bare feet, no grain of sediment fall nearer to his sides than the first. 

"Zeph!" called the half-Hebrew again, growing more impatient. He did not respond, his back remaining towards the now-dispersing throng. 

"Zeph! He's coming, I can hear his troops!" called the urgent voice again. 

"I will wait as long as it takes," he answered calmly, almost methodically, as he raised his sun-baked arms to his imaginary heaven.

As if exacting his arrival, entire blocks of ancient limestone slid down, transforming into dust that was blown away by invisible breezes. And when the dust had cleared, there came a hush about those remaining in the crowd. The gates had opened. 


	2. The Second Day

A/N: Here we go again…

A/N: Here we go again… 

Then light came in…

Harry walked out from his Divinations class eager to head for dinner. He jokingly shoved his companion, Ron, into the side of the castle wall, and raced ahead. He reached a long flight of pale grey stairs the seemed to give a cold welcome. 

He had reached halfway before Ron could even alight the steps. Harry stared ahead into the empty darkness upon reaching the granite floor. In front of him, he could see the wooden door that led to the Great Hall, but somehow he could not open it. Harry's vision blurred, his heart beginning to beat faster. The boy was the only one who could open these doors…

"Hey, Harry," Ron waved his hands in front of his friend's eyes. The redhead pushed open the large, heavy door and walked in. 

"You coming?" Harry returned from his imagination, into reality. 

"Uh…er…yeah." He slid his hand across the smooth wood before letting the door slam closed. Harry sat expressionless throughout dinner, much to the chagrin of his friends. He excused himself early, and hurried up to the Gryffindor common room. 

Collapsing onto his four-poster bed, he sighed. Who was this boy? Not anyone he knew, not anyone at Hogwarts…

A small rapping came at the far window, tweaking Harry's curiousity. He stuck his head out the window, brushing his disheveled bangs from his emerald eyes. The courtyard was empty, sans a tree simply bending to an unseen October breeze. 

Shaking his head and rubbing his tired eyes, Harry balanced his head on the window sill. He got the sense of being watched, and one again surveyed the outside. Not seeing a thing, Harry climbed onto the eave that covered the chamber. He still could see nothing, but felt that much different. 

"Hullo! I know you are here somewhere. Honestly, I promise I won't hurt you." Harry scanned the top of the eave, but even with his wand lit, he could see no one. 

Frustrated, Harry sunk to his knees, and threw a stray pebble from the roof. He waited until he heard the small _plink_ of it hitting the dark moat. He sighed again, but stopped abruptly as he felt a warm hand grasp his shoulder. 

Harry turned slightly, to see a young, innocent girl around the age of eight staring at him with round, scared eyes. She wore nothing but a simple cloth about her torso, and her stringy hair fell about her thin shoulders. 

" 'Lo there," he spoke cautiously. The girl's deep eyes grew bigger. Finally she spoke. 

"Ar..are you Harry Potter," she asked meekly, struggling to pronounce the words. Her voice was laden with a heavy accent of somewhere unknown to Harry. 

"Yeah, that's me. What can I do for you?" The girl paused for a moment, evidently thinking of the words. 

"Zeph needs you."


	3. Zeph's Shinar

A/N: I'm hoping that after this chapter, things might start to actually come together… I might add that somewhere in here, you

A/N: I'm hoping that after this chapter, things might start to actually come together… I might add that somewhere in here, you will probably start to see the religious intonations coming through. I myself am an agnostic, but I am totally fascinated by Biblical history, especially the story of the city of Babylon. 

When there was no heaven,  
no earth, no height, no depth, no name…

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Zeph, he had heard the name. It sounded so foreign, so ancient. It was probably from when Aunt Petunia had tried to cure him by literally shoving the New Testament down his throat. 

"Who is Zeph?" he whispered. The soiled girl sat down next to Harry and gave a toothy smile. 

"Zeph is our… hero. He comes to bring light."

"Right," chuckled Harry. He definitely had no clue what this "Zeph" was, and why he was needed. 

"So, Zeph, is he like your savior?" he suggested innocently. The girl nodded her shaggy mane vigorously.

"And, he wants me because…" he continued.

"You are the one who lived, says Zeph. I must bring you back so you can save Babel."

"Babel, as in Babylon? I don't think that is such a good idea… I mean…" The girl's face fell dramatically; she nodded her gaze to the floor. Harry turned his head up to the cloudless night sky. 

"I must come for you again, tomorrow," she murmured. Harry looked back, but his friend had vanished. He climbed back into the dorm and promptly fell asleep. 

The next morning passed uneventfully, only that Harry broke a few viles in Potions. Outside the dreaded class, Draco Malfoy approached him. Harry put out his arm to hold back Ron and Hermione, lest his enemy say anything to rile them. 

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Draco sneered menacingly at them, then let his expression melt into a violent grin. 

"New robes, Weasley? What did your mom die?" Ron shot an angry yet confused look back at the pale boy. 

"What would my mother dying have to do with new robes?" he demanded. 

"Well, then your food bill would be so drastically diminished…" Draco laughed, as the rest of his Slytherin supporters cheered him on. Ron glowed a bright red, but Harry pushed him back. He was began to respond bitterly, but felt the warm hand again. 

"This a friend of yours, Potter?" Draco leered, jabbing a thumb out at the girl. She turned from him to Harry, and smiled. 

"Harry Potter, we must go now. Zeph awaits you." Ron pressed forward Harry's arm.

"Wait a minute, who are you?" The girl's eyes questioned Harry of his scarlet companion.

"What?" he demanded angrily. 

"I will take them as well, Harry Potter. Zeph said reinforcements are welcome in this battle, though I know not their skills." Harry turned back to Hermione and Ron, who looked most perplexed. Before he could speak another word, the girl had set a shimmering light around them. Harry felt nothing, instead only saw blackness closing in on them. 

Soft sand sifted through his fingers. The hot sun bore incessantly upon his body. Harry then dared to open his eyes. A cloudless sky met his gaze. Attempting to rise, he felt a cool hand push him down again. 

"Rest." Once again, his world slipped away. 

When he regained his senses for a second time, Harry could remember little. He was alone inside a red tent, lying on a rug of wool. He could still feel the lumps of sand prodding at his back, pushing at his tense muscles. He balanced unsteadily on his weak arms and viewed his surroundings. He was very much solitary inside this red cave, although he could hear a multitude of loud noises emanating from the outside. 

Unsure of what was to happen next, Harry rose to his feet. He pulled back the tent-flap slightly and was met by a humid blast of air and dust. Clearing his eyes, he surveyed the area. The sun was brighter than he had ever seen it in England, still stranger in October. Shielding his face, he continued to watch for a familiar personage. 

He could see nothing but foreigners. Stranger yet was their clothing and packages. Harry stood agape as he viewed camels galloping along, lead by men in white trousers and cloaked tops. He was so stunned that he barely heard the voice calling him back. 

"Harry." The pale boy turned and was greeted by another shock: A girl about his age, perhaps a year older, wearing what seemed to be black drapery, stood at the tent opening. He smiled awkwardly, mesmerized by her tan skin, but instead of returning the gesture, she quickly covered her face with a stripe of the dark cloth. 

She bowed deeply to Harry, almost as if in prayer, letting pieces of her sun-browned hair fall forward. Harry gathered his senses, and finally spoke. 

"Uh, could you maybe tell me what I am doing here? And where I am?" he asked with the politest smile he could muster. 

The girl dropped her cloth. Her opaque eyes widened immensely and she lost her wits. She began to stammer in a language Harry could not understand, and her brown cheeks blushed vivid red. Realizing she did not speak English, Harry laughed quietly. He attempted to pantomime his predicament, but found the task proved impossible. The girl caught on to his act, and stopped his hands. Pointing to her chest, she proudly proclaimed:

"Inanna," then, placing her delicate forefinger on his chest, "Harry Potter." The mentioned boy grinned widely and nodded contentedly. 

Inanna's face brightened suddenly, and with a quick bow, she bolted from the tent. Seconds later, she had returned with the young girl that had first accosted Harry. They bowed simultaneously, then the youngest spoke. 

"I am Nidaba. Inanna, my eldest sister, says you wish to know something. She, unlike myself, does not speak your tongue." A bit taken aback, a flurry of questions buzzed through his mind. He managed to sputter out one.

"Where am I?" 

The two sisters exchanged unreadable glances, while Nidaba muttered something incomprehensible to Harry. Turning back to him, she fell expressionless. 

"Babel, look outside if you will." She took the corner of the crimson tent-flap and led him from the canopy. Again the blinding light dazzled the wizard. He felt Inanna grasp his arm and pull him into the shade of a building. 

Resting his bare back against the house, Harry felt the foreign texture of adobe meet his body. This strange subsistence was finally beginning to sink in. Inanna once again reached for his blistered hand, and drew him into a gritty crowd. 

As though a blind man, Harry stumbled clumsily, sending a numbing ice through his sore mind. For what seemed like an eternity, he was tugged and hauled through a mass of human bodies reeking with the putrid stench of sweat and decomposing life. Gusts of wind filled his watery eyes with sand, and scratched at his tender face. 

At long last, his guide brought him to a cool fountain, gently pouring the water on his welcoming body. He brushed the grainy hair from his forehead and looked to Nadiba quizzically. She said nothing, instead motionedto a lanky boy who sat under a tent teeming with bodies. 

The boy, acknowledging her gesture, stood and sauntered over, much like a king surveying his troops.He met Harry with a prolonged curtsey. 

"Zeph," whispered Inanna. She and her sister dropped to their knees, not daring to meet his power-hungry eyes. Harry stood much the confused boy, wondering if he too should bow. Zeph walked a circle round Harry, causing him to feel like a prized trophy. 

"You are Harry, yes?" Not waiting for a response, he continued, "I am Zephanina, our Messiah." He widened his arms, as if to included the whole of his domain. 

"I am the Messiah, and a prophetic symbol. In Babel, we know of magic, and I can see it in you. I have seen that in the future, you will fight a war to determine the ruler of the magickal world, one that if not altered now, will end in eternal damnation." Harry cringed to think of a Voldemort victory.

"I can help you but, Harry Potter, you must help us first."

"How can I do anything?" the wizard managed to breathe out. 

"Just as I envisioned a Dark Lord as the victor to you, there is said in the book that follows Shinar [1] that an idol who shall smite this city." 

Harry nodded to show his comprehension, and awaited his assignment. Although he did not fully believe the tale of this Zeph, he would commit to anything if Voldemort would simply disappear. 

Instead of continuing however, Zeph turned away and beckoned a scantily-armored guard. He barked an order, though much to Harry's dismay, not in English. Returning to Harry with a smirk, the prophet laughed.

"We must teach you the Akkadian tongue."

[1]: The Babylonian Old Testament…so the New Testament would follow, dahlings….


	4. The Red-Haired Devil

A/N: Haha

A/N: Haha! I have returned, although none of those evil people who read this story reviewed…with the exception of Marina. I love you, girl!

Hermione awoke to the rapping noise. The incessant knocking filled her head like an explosion. She opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the blackness of whatever room she was in. 

"Hello?" she called out timidly, almost as afraid of who might answer as the darkness. Someone, or rather, something flailed wildly at her right. She placed her hand on the cold floor and felt around, before grabbing at a cotton object.

"Get your hand off my ass, Granger!" cursed the _thing_. It stirred again, this time reaching for her face. She could feel its hot breath near her own nose.

"Where are we, witch?" it drawled. Hermione pushed the fact away. 

"Damnit, Draco, you scared me. All I know if that we are inside a tar black room that probably has not exits. Also, I don't have my wand." The other voice chuckled.

"Never thoughtI would get you alone in a dark room, Granger."

"Funny. Very funny." Hermione crawled until she bumped into what felt like a wall. She stood carefully and walked with her hands tracing the outline of the room. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a door," she replied sharply, "you could help, you know." With a toss of her hair, Hermione resumed her search. She felt about until her left hand fell upon a flipped latch. 

"Hey, I've found something!" She waited until she felt Draco's body press against the wall beside her.

"It's a latch."

"So flip it already!"

"Yes, Master Malfoy." The door budged slightly, revealing a single beam of light.

"Oh, thank God. We're going to get out of here!" Hermione sighed, pushing the entire weight of her body against the door, attempting to move it. 

"Here," Draco offered, almost humanely, "let me take a whack at it." Placing the palms of his hands against the concrete and bracing his feet, he let out a grunt that would put any pig to shame. 

"It's…not…moving…" he cried, exasperated, as a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. Hermione let out another sigh, and leaned back against their frigid boundary, smacking her head on the wall. 

"Ow," she exclaimed, reaching up to feel the bruise. From the ray of glowing light, Hermione could faintly see that one of the stonesmaking up the wall broke the pattern. She touched it gently with her fingers and saw it give way. When she pushed harder, Hermione found that the door had swung open. Draco, who had been heaving away, rolled onto a carpeted floor. The girl walked into the chamber that was filled by the warmth of the sun. 

"What the…" Hermione placed her hand before his mouth to cut him off. With another deft movement, she signaled for him to be silent and scanned the room. The door they had just passed through seemed to have been carved right out of the wall. An asthetic mural of violently bright colors was slated across the walls and door. 

Hermione traced her fingers delicately across the faces of the depicted people who were frozen in an endless battle. Their once beautiful faces seemed twisted in grotesque images of torture and defeat. She broke her gaze and quickly searched for her unwilling companion. 

She found the pale boy leaning his ear against one of the room's walls, intently listening for something.

"What is it?" she whispered, only to be hushed by Draco. He looked back at her, and motioned for her to open the nearby wooden door. The heavy oak swung carelessly open, squeaking slightly, much to Draco's discontent. 

Hermione peered inside the almost black doorway. She stepped cautiously into the room, her bare feet padding quietly on the icy tile, only to jump back at a soft moan. 

"Oh God, oh God.." she murmured, walking backwards bumping into Draco. He almost gently placed his coarse hand on her shoulder. 

"Who's there?"

"I don't…I don't know." Hermione followed Draco as he approached the entryway. He reached for his wand, only to remember it had been confiscated sometime during their ordeal, of which he could recall only bright lights and shadows. Scanning the room for another light, he accidentally knocked over a candle balanced precariously on a nearby desk. He shoved it at Hermione's face. 

"You took the one day Conjuring class. Give us a flame!" Hermione grimaced at her enemy then muttered a short spell. 

A vivid light sparked at her fingers and she wrested the candle from his hands, leading the way into the obscurity. 

"Hullo?" sputtered Hermione faintly,waving the candle's flame madly. Another groan came from her right. Draco grabbed her arm and guided the candle. As she squinted to view easier, Hermione suddenly and emphatically dropped the molded wax.

"Ron!" she shrieked as she glanced at the radiant orange hair, just as the candle's flame was smothered. She hurriedly conjured up another fire between her palms. Leaving the brilliant orb in the center of the stifling chamber, she rushed to her friend's side. 

"Oh Ron, what happened?" The red-haired boy hung limply, fettered to the cobbled wall by iron chains. She tore at the links, and finding them weak and loose, helped Ron from his bondage. He lay, half-naked and shivering, on the floor as Hermione soothingly pet his head. 

"Oh God, who did this?" Hermione turned back to see Draco poised in the doorway. With the light wearing thin, Hermione dragged Ron as far as was possible. Draco turned his head to her and the lanky boy, his face now ashen white.

"People are coming."

Almost instantly, hundreds of footsteps thundered outside the chamber. Swarthy men crowded about Ron's prison, peering at their victims through the murkiness. One of the dark men stepped forward, as if to greet them. Draco stood defiantly, although his knees knocked together like wooden spoons. The man barked something that to Hermione sounded much like garbled Latin. 

"Try to talk to them," she hissed vehemently as she protectively stroked Ron's arm. Draco faultered as he glanced between them and the armed men. 

"Euh…Parlez-vous français? [1]" he suggested meekly. The man gave a toothy grin. He said something to his men before returning to the pale boy. 

"Oui, garçon, mais pourquoi est-ce que vous essaiez aider ce garçon? Les homes avec les cheveux rouge sont méchants et de Satan! [2]" Hermione shivered coldy, wrapping her arms tighter around her friend.

Two of the subordinates, clad only in thin clothes wrapped about their waists and falling to their knees, attempted to remove Ron from Hermione's embrace. 

"No!" she screamed, flailing violently as the men raised their knives. 

Oooh, what is going to happen next? Review if you want to find out.

[1] "Do you speak French?" (easy French phrase to learn, children.)

[2] "Yes boy, but why are you trying to help that one? Red-haired men are evil and of Satan!" (This is actually something I read about in old Assyrian and Celtic folklore. Red-haired people were believed to be cursed, and when they died they would become part of the undead…vampires if you will.)


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